


I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

by nisakomi



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisakomi/pseuds/nisakomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One long conversation about Christmas. Or, Seventeen convinces Lee Chan that Santa Claus is real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

“I hate Christmas,” Seungkwan announces. He’s sitting with his back to the far wall, and not looking at anyone in particular, although they’re all sitting around him more or less. 

“I’m too young to be jealous of all the couples walking around being all lovey-dovey and buying each other presents and wearing matching couple scarves and cooing and dates.” He sighs and thunks his head back against the wall, looking up and blinding himself with the lights.

Soonyoung pauses in the middle of his toe wiggle mating dance, turns away from Jihoon, and comments in a very judge-y voice, “Well, you _sound_ awfully jealous.”

“Exactly!” Seungkwan huffs. He doesn’t make any sign that he’s aware it was Soonyoung who spoke to him, nor that he’s aware it was meant as a dig, rather than encouragement to continue. “Even though I shouldn’t be, it’s unavoidable. I hate Christmas!” Finishing his rant, he frowns, creasing his forehead, and looks back down. Black splotches spot his vision, one fitting exactly the shape of the hole in the knee of his jeans. Seungkwan frowns harder, and picks at the edges with his fingers.

Jisoo pipes up, “You know, in the States, Christmas is time for family.”

Seungkwan’s attention turns so quickly that he yanks free an entire thread. “Really?” He turns and digs his finger into Hansol’s deltoids four times, fast. 

“Wha-?” Hansol looks up from his phone game, now on pause, and rubs his shoulder gingerly.

“Was Jisoo-hyung telling the truth, is Christmas really not a couple's holiday in America?” Seungkwan demands, ignoring Hansol’s winces of pain.

“Oh yeah,” Hansol says, face immediately brightening up, and discarding his phone to the side, “my mom still makes turkey for us, and we spend time as a family. It’s pretty nice.”

“Why aren’t you with your family now?” asks Minghao, without any malice. He has a dreamy look on his face, with his chin resting on the palm of his hand. He hasn’t seen his parents in ages.

Hansol opens and closes his mouth, before quickly saying, “I’m with you guys…aren’t you family too?” He raises his hands defensively, but puts them back down when Minghao nods serenely. 

“In China, Christmas is also mostly a holiday for couples, but a lot of friends will celebrate by eating and singing together,” Junhui supplies from his position, perched on the arm of a sofa and clinging to a couch cushion. 

Junghan shakes his head, and his hair flares out around his head prettily. “That’s no fun. We sing together for a living, that is literally our job,” he says, before stretching out like a cat. 

“Hey! Noraebang is still fun even if you’re a singer!”

“Seungkwan, our shower room is your own personal daily noraebang. Our car too.” Seungcheol thinks for a moment. “Come to think of it, you never stop singing.”

“It’s nice to have background music and vocals though,” Seungkwan harrumphs. He crosses his arms and legs childishly, only to have Mingyu pat him on the head. Seungkwan slaps his hand away, but has a pleased smile on his face that betrays his satisfaction. 

“Anyway we can just have a Seventeen date,” Seokmin says with a grin.

“And with Younghee?” Mingyu asks, suddenly eager and excited to make up for his rather awkward rendezvous with the V-App camera. A brief moment of silence ensues. While Mingyu bounces in his seat, all the other members stop moving except to strain to make eye contact and decide who will break it to him that—

“No, um, I was thinking the 13 of us?” Seokmin says, still grinning, but looking a little sheepish now. Everyone else looks relieved because Seokmin is not only super polite, his smile can disarm an entire country. 

Wonwoo lifts his head up from Junhui’s thigh and nods blankly, “I mean technically we’re spending it with 1000 people at our concert, aren’t we? Our version of Christmas can be a little bit early and be a group party or something.” He speaks without smiling, but there’s a warmth in his tone. 

“Tonight?” Jihoon asks, sitting up, just as Chan calls, “A party! A party!” 

Mingyu shrugs. “Yeah why not? Also, Lee Chan, have you ever been to a Christmas party? Have you been to any parties? Aren’t you a little young?”

“Yes of course I have!” He replies indignantly, “As a matter of fact, in third grade, I was invited to—”

Soonyoung reaches over to cover his mouth, “Shh…Stop, it’s okay, you don’t need to tell us, he was just joking.” 

“Oh,” Chan voices quietly, and deflates just a tiny bit. His excitement, however, is not completely lost.

“But what about food?” Seungcheol asks. He looks exhausted, half sprawled in Minghao’s lap. 

Minghao looks at Junhui, who looks back at everyone sheepishly, with two thumbs up. He brings his arms back down and gently pats Wonwoo’s head.

“So we’re good for snacks,” Soonyoung confirms, “and we can just order take-out—”

“That’s not different from any other night,” Mingyu interrupts. “I’m going to make ramyun,” he says with a puff of his chest, and stands up. He nods, for good, self affirming measure, and proudly declares, “enough ramyun to feed twenty people.”

“Mingyu-umma is making us food? Now we’re really talking a party,” says Junghan, smirking. 

“Do we have a chef’s hat? You know, the big poufy ones?” Mingyu asks, tying the strings of his apron deftly behind his back. 

“You’re making ramyun, not coq au vin,” Chan says, drawing his lips together and narrowing his eyes.

“Frankly, I can’t believe you even know what that is,” Hansol says, staring at him with amazement. He shakes his head and raises his shoulder a few times, trying to get Seungkwan to stop resting his head on it. Seungkwan doesn’t budge. 

“Just because you can’t appreciate good cooking skills since you have absolutely none, doesn’t mean you should go around judging others,” Mingyu yells from the kitchen. 

“I can cook!” Chan squawks, making to get up off the couch. 

Soonyoung tugs him down by his sleeve and tells him, “No Lee Channie, you really cannot. He’s teasing you, please sit down.” without cracking a smile.

Chan pouts but squirms back into his comfy spot, and surprisingly lets the subject go.

From the kitchen, Mingyu makes a triumphant noise, and turns around to look at everyone with a pointy grin. “Ta-da!” He announces, and the sparkly white pompom from the Santa hat on his head sways with the upward jerk of his chin.

“Ho ho ho,” Jihoon deadpans. He recoils when Mingyu sends him an emphatic wink. 

“Santa, I’ve been very good this year, can I get more lines in the next title track?” Soonyoung asks sweetly.

Jihoon replies, equally saccharine, “Oh but Soonyoung, I’ve had my eye on you, and you’ve been too naughty to deserve nice things.”

Seungkwan snorts, covers up his face, and looks away, slightly embarrassed. 

“Santa Claus doesn’t exist, but even if he did, he would look the opposite of what Jihoon-hyung looks like,” Chan scoffs.

Everyone stops. 

Eleven pairs of eyes whirl towards Lee Chan, each huge, round, and unblinking. 

“What? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Seungcheol sits up and clears his throat. “Are you telling us,” he says slowly, “that you’ve never received a present from Santa? Ever?” He enunciates very carefully, as if sure that someone has simply misheard.

“I mean, obviously, everyone knows that’s not real and he’s just a story to tell little kids.”

“Does that mean he’s never been good enough to deserve a gift?” Hansol whispers.

“I got a present every single Christmas from ages one through 13,” Seokmin whispers.

“Why are we whispering?” Minghao whispers.

Wonwoo buries his face into Junhui’s hip, and lifts it back up. “Because this means Chan’s been a really, really terrible kid for his _entire life_ ,” he whispers.

Lifting his hand to his throat, “No!” Jisoo whispers.

They each turn away from the quiet conversation to look back at Chan, faces aghast with realization.

Chan flushes, opens and closes his mouth several times, and stands up. He turns to look at Soonyoung, who doesn’t stop him, or pull him back down, or tell him not to speak. He stares and stares at Soonyoung, but doesn’t get the usual relief of someone informing him that he’s just being poked fun at.

Soonyoung says nothing, just looks sadly at him, as if he’s really missed out his entire life on a very real Santa.

“Stop playing around! I know he’s fake! This is a joke! Of course I was a good kid, how can a 1 year old not be good enough for Santa? You’re all lying!” Chan complains.

“Children, I’ve finished cooking!” Mingyu exclaims, and everyone quickly gets up to go eat, leaving Chan standing there sadly. 

There is clattering and clamouring as they each try to find somewhere to sit around the table, and arrange thirteen pairs of chopsticks and thirteen bowls around the two massive pots Mingyu has placed at either end. 

“Dig in! There are twenty packets of noodles in there, and cheese, and eggs, and there’s enough kimchi out to feed a small army. If there isn’t enough, I’m quitting forever, see if I braid anyone’s hair ever again."

“You can only really braid Junghan-hyung’s hair,” points out Chan, rather scathingly, still feeling wronged and quite bitter about the fact that he was the only person who didn’t realize Santa Claus was a real phenomenon. 

Mingyu, however, was not part of the conversation. He glowers, rightly so since he the jibe was entirely uncalled for, rips off his apron in mock anger, and tosses it behind him, getting ready to launch himself at Chan. 

It flutters comically for a moment, before smacking Jihoon in the face and falling to the floor. 

“Mingyu-ssi,” Jihoon says quietly.

“Yes?” Mingyu replies, shoving back his chair to stand up. 

“Mingyu-ssi,” Jihoon begins again, voice cloyingly sweet. Before he can finish his sentence, Mingyu, realizing the situation, bolts away, running and jumping over anything on the floor to lock himself in the bathroom. Jihoon picks up the apron, and chases after him noisily while swinging it around in the air. 

“You locked up his guitar or hid it somewhere he can’t find, right?” Soonyoung asks, face pale and eyes bugged out in alarm.

“Y-yeah, I think so?” Seungcheol says nervously. “Oh God, I really hope I remembered to do it after the last incident.” 

“You can’t hide in there forever!” Jihoon yells, pounding on the bathroom door. Mingyu has a firm grasp on the door handle from the other side, but even though Jihoon is smaller in stature, he’s just as strong, and has more fire to motivate him for longer.

“Mercy!” Mingyu screams, “No, Jihoon-hyung, you can’t become a murderer over someone like me!” 

Soonyoung blanches at Mingyu’s cries of despair, rapidly becoming incoherent babbling. The muscles of his neck tense, and his lips purse together. 

“I should go…stop that,” he says, and swallows thickly.

“Don’t do it,” Seokmin whispers, looking at Soonyoung as a little brother might watch his older brother head off to war, “If you put yourself between Jihoon-hyung and his prey, you’ll only become collateral damage,” he finishes sadly.

“You’re right,” Seungkwan says to him, and whirls to face Soonyoung. “Just ignore it like the rest of us and eat, Soonyoung-hyung.” He whirls around again, glaring daggers at Chan. “Anyway this is all his fault, just because he was too naughty to be on Santa’s nice list, doesn’t mean he should take out his anger on us, the deserving children.”

“Santa’s not real!” Chan explodes.

“Yeah~” Jihoon sings, from Mingyu’s shoulders. Mingyu is piggy-backing him, and smiling. Jihoon is carrying a ginormous white teddy bear, outfitted in a white dress shirt, complete black suit and pants, and a black fedora. It’s wrapped with a giant red bow, and has a pretty “To: Our Dino” tag attached.

“Merry Christmas!” Mingyu chirps, and everyone else joins in. 

Chan promptly bursts into tears.

“Did you guys—” He stops to let out a great heaving sob, dripping tears and mucous, “Do all of that to surprise me?!” 

“Yes, although,” Soonyoung says, “Maybe next year we should play the manito game so all of us get the Christmas spirit.” 

“Yeah of course,” Seungcheol says, “And Channie, you’re our shared baby. Well, now, anyway. Children get Christmas presents, even if they’re not from Santa.” 

“See!” Chan shouts, pointing a finger at Seungcheol through his weeping, “Santa isn’t real!” 

“That’s not what he was saying,” Jisoo says patiently.

“Yeah, he means even bad kids get Christmas presents from their parents,” Junghan adds in.

“Sto-o-op!” Chan wails, hugging the bear in his lap and burying his face in its fur.

“Hey, hey!” Junhui yelps, yanking at Chan’s sweater. “Don’t get him dirty!” 

Chan lifts his face, but wails again, and Junhui almost takes what he said back. Almost.

After dinner, Seungcheol returns cradling two enormous bottles of a milky liquid, holding them as if they were small babies. “The CEO gave me home-made gamju as a present,” he informs everyone. “This is as good a time as any to open them, right?”

“Alcohol!” Seungkwan exclaims, clapping his hands with glee. His face is pulled into a look of sheer joy and a very toothy grin.

“Uh, that stuff’s non-alcoholic,” Wonwoo reminds him.

Soonyoung elbows him out of the way, and brings the bottles to the kitchen, where he pours out thirteen cups with Mingyu’s help. Seokmin and Junghan deliver the cups to all the members, who are mostly spread out all over the floor in tired heaps.

“Think about it, who would give us real alcohol? Half of you are underage,” Wonwoo mutters to himself.

He drinks it anyway. They all do, happily, quietly, basking in each others’ presence both like a family, and like a group of friends at the same time. 

Hansol’s cheeks grow pink, whether from the heat of the room or his embarrassment at Mingyu putting his hair up like an onion is uncertain.

Minghao, lying on his front and propped up on his elbows, watches as Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung make up a song and dance about the gamju. 

Jihoon watches them as well, but from the sofa, and while absent-mindedly fiddling with the ends of Junghan’s hair from about half a foot away from him.

From the side, Chan cheers them on, and holds onto the arms of his new teddy bear to choreograph and coordinate a matching dance.

Seungcheol watches all of them with his legs spread out ahead of him, looking content to sip on his drink for the rest of the night, even though he meant to marshal everyone to bed early. 

Jisoo slips past everyone to play a Christmas movie featuring Rudolph that he loved as a kid, and one by one they go silent to watch, and one by one they fall asleep to the cute music and stop motion animation. 

Junhui stands and stretches when Minghao finally starts snoring, and pads over to the separate sleeping room, looking for a pillow. By the time he gets there, he too collapses to the floor, and sits with his back resting against the edge of the bed. Well, no one else has a pillow, and none of them _need_ a pillow.

The door closes with a click, and Junhui looks up to see Wonwoo, who apparently also did not fall asleep with the others.

“It must be the gene that gives us our tolerance of spicy food also gives us a tolerance to alcohol,” Junhui jokes tiredly.

Wonwoo stares at him, his jaw goes slack, and he is briefly motionless in a halfway squatting position, on his way to sit down. “Um, I mentioned this before, but there really is basically no alcohol in that stuff,” he explains, as neutrally as possible. 

Junhui shrugs. “It’s the thought that counts. The more you want to get drunk, the drunker you get.”

“That,” Wonwoo remarks with a sharp jerk of his thumb in the direction of the living room, “was not drunken behaviour. That was Seungkwan and Seokmin and Soonyoung on a normal day, and then Seungkwan and Seokmin and Soonyoung passing out from exhaustion, again on a normal day.” 

Junhui laughs, but stops himself quickly. “When was the last time we really had a normal day?” 

Wonwoo puts his face in his hands and groans. “Yeah, you’re right.” He yawns and rubs his eyes. “Shit, I just smudged my eyeliner.” 

“Come here,” Junhui says, reaching out a thumb. His tongue poking out from between his teeth, he carefully rubs off the streak that Wonwoo made over his eyelid and sits back. “It’s fine, but I mean, we’re in the dorms so you might as well go wash your make-up off while everyone else is asleep. They’re all going to wake up again at the same time and fight each other for the washroom.”

“Alright,” Wonwoo agrees easily, “Did you sneak off to do that already?” 

“What,” Junhui says, biting back a sharp laugh, “is it so obvious that I’ve taken my pretty mask off?” 

“No,” Wonwoo says, standing back up and pawing at his eyes, “You look better without make-up.” 

When he returns, Junhui is opening and closing a beside drawer about a centimetre, repeatedly. 

“I kinda thought you’d dose off,” Wonwoo says, sitting down again.

Junhui nods, “I thought I would too, but here I am, still awake.” He looks away from the drawer to give Wonwoo a sad frown. “Do you know—” He breaks off, and fiddles with the ring on his pinky finger. 

Wonwoo almost prompts him with, “Do I know what?” But Junhui beats him to it by blurting out, “I’m really jealous of your skin. Whenever I don’t eat well or sleep well or get too stressed, I break out. Which is all the time, now.” He pats his own jaw with a little frown.

“Uh,” Wonwoo says articulately, and gives Junhui a bewildered expression. “Aren’t you normally the one who’s super confident about their looks?”

Junhui scoffs. “I can be hot but still have bad skin. Look,” he says, turning his head to point at the side of his face.

“Ah yes, all three pimples there. Terrible, how do you live,” Wonwoo deadpans, poking at him.

“Look at your skin,” Junhui whines, letting his eyes roam, “nothing…no imperfections to speak of.” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Everyone gets pimples. Even me. Everyone. Well, maybe except Jihoon, but his skin is amazing and not human.”

“Oh yeah,” Junhui nods. “True. Very true.” 

Wonwoo elbows him in the side, with a lopsided grin. “So, you think you’re hot stuff, huh?” 

“Of course. But don’t worry, you’re hot too,” Junhui says, giving him a mischievous smirk.

“Not as hot as Seungcheol-hyung, according to you,” says Wonwoo, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Junhui pats Wonwoo’s cheek. “Now now, there’s no need to go fishing for compliments.”

Wonwoo grabs his hand to hold it there and meets Junhui’s eyes. They hold eye contact for a moment. 

Junhui leans in and presses his lips against Wonwoo’s, and leans back just as quickly.

“Mm, I guess I’m pretty hot if someone as hot as you is willing to kiss me,” Wonwoo mumbles into Junhui’s hand.

Junhui pulls his hand away to swat at Wonwoo's head. “I should have realized you would just end up complimenting yourself.” 

“Someone’s gotta, if you aren’t going to do it,” Wonwoo mumbles into Junhui’s left cheekbone, brushing his lips against it gently, and then moving to leave soft kisses down his jawline. 

Junhui turns his head so they can kiss properly, mouth angled against Wonwoo’s, warm and sweet. He pulls back a little, to open his eyes. Wonwoo pauses, eyes mostly lidded, and licks his lips, unsure. Junhui is simply searching to grab at the part of Wonwoo’s sweater between neck and shoulder for an anchor, and pulls him back in, his other arm snaking around Wonwoo's waist.

Their lips slide against each other’s, mouths open, and Junhui swipes his tongue along Wonwoo’s lower lip. He feels a hand at the back of his head, gripping at his hair, and does it again. Wonwoo makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, and the vibration transfers to Junhui too. Wonwoo fists his other hand around the fabric at the front of Junhui’s shirt, and nips at him gently. Junhui lifts both his hands up to cup Wonwoo’s face, and presses one last closed-mouth kiss to his lips before they break apart.

Wonwoo rests his forehead against Junhui’s before opening his eyes. There’s a soft smile on his face as he looks at him from underneath his eyelashes, and he pulls one corner of his mouth into a smirk when Junhui drops his hands to support his weight on Wonwoo’s knees.

“Hope you don’t do that with _all_ of your friends. Did you seduce Mingyu with a make out session too?” Junhui asks.

“Do you make out with your little brother?” counters Wonwoo, leaning back a little.

“Ugh, gross! Of course not!” Junhui grimaces, and punches Wonwoo in the shoulder.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “See? Mingyu and I met each other thinking the other was suave and cool, but it turned out that we’re both kind of losers who now know too much about each other to be comfortable not keeping an eye on each other.” 

“And you like him,” Junhui mumbles.

“Yes, of course I like him,” Wonwoo says, poking Junhui in the neck to make him look at him again. “But I also like everyone in Seventeen, whether or not I wanted you guys to be endearing, I’ve come to care about all of you. Even the members I thought I’d never be close to.”

“Like Junghan and Minghao?” Junhui asks, grabbing at Wonwoo’s finger to bite it, before releasing him from his grasp. 

“Like Junghan-hyung and Minghao,” Wonwoo affirms. “Because I'm a shy shit. But you know,” he starts, and then pauses, bringing the backs of his fingers up to his cheeks and feeling the warmth there.

“No, I don’t know,” Junhui prompts. 

“Rude. I like them...but I like you in a different way?” Wonwoo immediately busies himself with pretending to gnaw on Junhui’s wrist in embarrassment.

“Yeah?” Junhui asks, looking down. “Me too,” he says quickly, "I like you differently too," taking back his arm to bop Wonwoo on the chin. 

Wonwoo grins, and presses his lips to Junhui’s lips, nose brushing against Junhui’s cheek.

Junhui digs his fingernails into the back of Wonwoo’s hand, before releasing and letting their fingers sit, intertwined. For a while they are content to sit, holding hands, and sneaking looks at each other.

“Do you still talk to Mingming, by the way?”

“It’s…” Junhui pushes his lips out into a duck expression, and Wonwoo quickly gets in another kiss. “Complicated,” Junhui says, slightly dazed, “I was going to say it’s complicated. Are you still in contact with Doyoon-hyung?”

Wonwoo ponders for a second, eyes still on Junhui’s mouth, “Hm, that’s more Seungcheol-hyung’s business, isn’t it?” 

“Does he then?” Junhui asks.

Wonwoo shakes his head. “I think at the beginning, yeah, but then, I think, Doyoon-hyung didn’t really want to bother Seungcheol, and Seungcheol-hyung didn’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t a bother without making things awkward. Like, even though Doyoon-hyung’s acting, we’ve debuted, which is what we were all waiting for. And then the longer they put off talking to each other to kind of clear the air and tell each other that it’s okay and that they’re still friends, the wider the gulf between them gets, and the more uncomfortable things are.”

Junhui nods. “Yeah, I get that. It’s kind of that way with Mingming. Either our conversation ends up being ‘I miss China,’ ‘Me too,’ ‘When did you last eat Chinese food? What did you eat?’ ‘When was the last time you spoke to your mom?’. Or, we both become painfully aware of the fact that I,” Junhui stumbles, looks at Wonwoo awkwardly. 

“You can say you, it’s not untrue that you’ve debuted.” 

Junhui shoves him, Wonwoo slightly loses his balance, and grabs onto Junhui to regain it. 

“Anyway, that we’ve debuted and he hasn’t. And that mostly, even though he left because it felt like he wasn’t getting enough chances, it was because of the language barrier and fact that he was Chinese? But his Korean is amazing now, so it’s just plain awkward.” 

At this, Wonwoo jabs him in the chest. “Why do you that thing?”

“What thing?” Junhui asks.

“When we go on air, or do interviews, sometimes you stumble on Korean words I know you know.”

Junhui sighs. “I get really nervous about messing up, and then I do mess up. People probably think I’ve spent all my time here doing nothing.” 

Wonwoo slaps his arm with the sleeve of his sweater. “Don’t say that, your Korean’s great.” 

“Thanks, means a lot coming from you,” Junhui says, somewhat sarcastically.

“Good. It should. Since I’m Korean, I’m clearly the be all and end all of Korean authority on language ability.”

Junhui laughs and stops abruptly, looking thoughtful.

“I actually talk more to Dongjin.”

“Dongjinnie?” Wonwoo asks, tugging Junhui closer so he can lean his head against his shoulder. 

“Yeah. In some ways, I think he’s kind of relieved that he’s not doing all this anymore,” says Junhui while waving his hand to encompass idolhood.

“Is he alright?”

“Yeah, he’s being…normal, that’s the best word for it I guess. Going to school, making friends, not being scrutinized for everything.” 

“Sounds terrible, who wouldn’t want to hear screaming all the time and be photographed at every moment so you have to make sure you never look weird,” Wonwoo jokes.

Junhui flicks Wonwoo’s ear with his index finger and Wonwoo makes a low whining noise, before resting his cheek above Junhui’s collarbone.

“Speaking of fans,” Junhui says, alternating between petting Wonwoo’s hair, and stroking his cheek, “I think you should tone down the skinship.”

“What? Why?” Wonwoo asks, alarmed.

“If you keep doing things like this, or just touching me in general, who knows when I’ll accidentally stop being able to resist and accidentally end up doing inappropriate things to you in public?” Junhui points out.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Wonwoo says, “the fans would love it.”

Junhui slowly moves his hand to gently punch Wonwoo in the side of the mouth, but Wonwoo takes the opportunity to bite at and then kiss Junhui’s knuckles.

“I’d love it too, but we’d get like, I don’t know, shot and killed immediately.” 

“Fine, we’ll take notes from Jihoon and Soonyoung” Wonwoo says, rolling his face over to rest his forehead. “I guess it’s inevitable if you put this many good looking guys together, hoping the public finds at least one of them interesting, that some of them will also be attracted to each other.” 

“Is it inevitable?” Junhui asks, pouting. “I thought I was special!”

“You are,” Wonwoo says, and nibbles on Junhui’s collarbone. “Silly. But I mean we’re not special. How do you think Soonyoung’s trained Jihoon into being comfortable having physical contact with him when Jihoon still avoids touching everyone else?” 

“When you say trained…” Junhui trails off.

Wonwoo kisses Junhui’s neck. “Yeah, like, _conditioned_.” 

“Did Soonyoung tell you this?” Junhui asks.

“Did he not tell you this?” Wonwoo counters.

Junhui shrugs, and Wonwoo’s teeth slide against a tender part of his neck. He winces but continues. “I don’t know that I’m the first person he would think to tell. But then again, the first person I’d have thought he’d tell would be Jihoon himself.” 

Wonwoo laughs, the noise muffled against Junhui’s skin, and the sound and tactile sensation send butterflies dancing in Junhui's stomach, all while calming his muscles. A tension he didn’t know he was keeping in his neck and shoulder blades relaxes as Wonwoo strokes a thumb along his jawline. 

“I bet their plan of attack is to make good use of the time,” Junhui mutters, pulling Wonwoo upright and then shuffling ever closer.

“You’re probably right,” Wonwoo says with a smirk, each breath tickling Junhui’s skin. “And would you look at that, we’ve got a pretty good opportunity to do that now, don’t we?”

Junhui doesn’t respond with words, simply dives right in, kissing the crease between Wonwoo’s nose and lips, then the corner of his mouth, and finally titling his head to line their mouths together. He moans into the feverish, open mouth kisses, hands interlocked around Wonwoo’s waist. 

Wonwoo has one hand cupping Junhui’s jaw, and the other is digging circles into his neck muscles. Junhui’s teeth have caught the edge of his lips, and Wonwoo licks to get him to open his mouth again. He presses his tongue flat against the roof of Junhui’s mouth and Junhui keens, throwing his weight forward until they almost topple over. 

Junhui pulls back, aware that he’s entirely sitting in Wonwoo’s lap at this point.

“Santa, I know we’ve been super busy, but you got me a really nice Christmas present, right?” Junhui asks. “Because I got you something super expensive.” 

Wonwoo splutters and searches for something to say. 

“I’m kidding. But let’s go out for spicy Chinese food before the new year,” he says cutely, and kisses Wonwoo’s cheek. 

The two sit in quiet for a while. Every few moments, Junhui makes a quiet sound and Wonwoo flinches, thinking that he’s going to be asked to play one of Junhui’s always violent, and increasingly painful weird games. But then, he realizes, not all of their games have to be painful.

They look back at each other almost simultaneously, and their mouths meet again, only briefly. For Junhui yawns in that moment, leaning back with only one eye open, and then giggles.

“Oh, what, this is making you sleepy?” Wonwoo asks, with feigned displeasure. He nudges Junhui with his shoulder and moves his fingers to tickle his sides.

Junhui heaves from the sensation, trying to force out, “No, stop, please,” in between gulps of air and choked out peals of laughter.

“I’m always sleepy around now because I always wake up earliest,” Junhui says sadly.

Wonwoo gives him a stern look. “That’s your excuse? That’s an awful excuse.” But then he breaks out into a smile and Junhui shakes his shoulder with his hand.

“Alright, we might as well make use of this bed since it looks like we’re the only people who are going to be here tonight,” Wonwoo suggests, hiding another yawn behind his hand.

“We can share the bed,” Junhui says, “Together, heh.”

Wonwoo smacks his leg. “You were the one who was tired,” he reminds him.

“Mm, yeah yeah, you’re right,” Junhui says, standing up. Wonwoo joins him and then sprawls out on the mattress.

“Shove over,” Junhui says, collapsing onto the bed and hitting Wonwoo in the chest.

“Or what? Make me,” Wonwoo teases, but he budges to the side so they can share the mattress and the covers. “Goodnight, Wen Jun Hui,” he says in as best a Mandarin accent as he can muster.

Junhui’s eyes are closed, but he smiles. “Goodnight,” he murmurs, and sleeps with Wonwoo as his pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays!


End file.
